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An Echo
There is an echo
Of Green Darkness
Humming in this place
Of
MySpace or The Clubhouse
As Cummings calls it,
Faint, but getting louder
In this eclectic group
Of online wanderers,
Wonderers, people
Passing, pausing,
Some picking through
Looking for pieces
Missing or whatever,
Kundalini rising
Here and there
And the rebel one
With the mystic eyes,
She dances like
An Island girl,
Seton could not
Have written her
Better than she is.
Stephen Nesbitt © . |
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